Goodnight,Vienna
by Servant of Fire
Summary: AU Mycroft interrupts John's attempted suicide, to plead for his help in saving Sherlock from the mutinous crew of the "Vienna" the ship Mycroft's people had sent to bring a tormented Sherlock home from his Hiatus. T for mentions of torture, attempted suicide, drugs and alcohol.
1. Chapter 1 Study in Errors

**Chapter One: Study in Errors~**

**To the One Who accepts me,just the way I am. with love~**

John Watson goes home to die.

It took him a little longer than Mycroft had anticipated, but tonight was the night when the young doctor's heart broke for the very last time.

And it was the night that Mycroft needed him more than ever before, because Sherlock's life was at stake, for real this time.

The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, as John pulled out his Browning, to clean it.

"Hello, old friend." he whispered, and took a swig off of the whiskey he had sitting on the counter next to Sherlock's chemistry kit. Sherlock . There was the stab of pain again. And one more moment of great pain was about to come, one instant of shock, when his body crumbled to the floor, like a sand castle in a hurricane, and the world came down like so many ice castles; one cold piece of lead to his temple, and in that last great pain,all John's pain would end. Or so he thought.

The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, like lions of the mist. And there in the wake of white light, stood Mycroft Holmes, drenched to his skin, hands twisted in the fabric of his coat, looking as though his icey mask was about to break.

John smiled, "Came to gloat, Myc?You're only in my mind, right?"

"No, John.I am very real...And I am begging you not to do this."

"Begging?You're not one to beg."John laughed, flashing the kind smile that had won the heart of one long lost Holmes brother in question tonight, a shadow of the old John that was gone forever in a gasp of smoke.

"Nor to borrow, nor to steal. But I feel that I'm about to do all of that with you, kind doctor that saved my brother's soul. Because I am a very wretched man,and I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"Oh, no really.I thought I was your confidant."John gasped, sarcastically. "I'm about to get very drunk,and then put a bullet through my brain, so you better make this fast."

Mycroft gaped at how cold he had become.

"Spill!"

"John, Sherlock is alive."

John blinked."Sorry, what?"

"I have not been entirely honest with you...Sherlock, when he jumped, he didn't actually hit the ground. I used some theatrics to help him fake his death,which ,in his defence, he had to fake to keep you alive because it was Moriarty's order to shoot you there and then, unless his snipers saw Sherlock fall. So ,in his defense, he would have died for you, made me come up with a back up plan, should I fail to get men to the snipers in time,and he be forced to jump. He actually did jump, but I had an agent on the roof that managed to shoot him with one of those hook lines,and ease him to the ground, where all he sustained was a very large bloodied bruise to forehead. It was a hastey plan, but the bike that hit you, your momentary confusion, that was all the work of my agents,and some of Sherlock's stand -ins. We had actually only haphazardly (and act of God it worked ,really) prepared for him to survive, because we really never intended for him to jump,at all.I had one of my agents hit him with a tranquilizing drug that would lower his heart rate to apparent death, so I could smuggle him out of the country,without a fuss. Initially, we had intended for it to end without his having to fall, and we had intended to let you in on it, when it looked like he was arrested for his supposed fake genius tom foolery,and his talents were conscripted, by my order, to work for MI6, and so he end up working with my agents until Moriarty's network was taken down, Moriarty at last proven guilty,and for his troubles little brother look like a hero. I arranged it,and Sherlock agreed to it, only because he wanted Moriarty stopped, cause he had to be stopped,and because he wanted you to be safe. So really, he isn't to be blamed at all for all your umm...sentiments..., and I ...really need your help, because the crew of the ship I was sending him home on ,the _Vienna, _has all commited mutiny. Pirates, bloody modern day pirates, ship is supposed to be a floating rehabilitation center-my brother's last encounter with the network left to forced drug abuse,and I was trying to dry him out. I'd hate to know what his "doctors" are doing to him now. Oh, I so hate to admit the error of my ways!"

John is left blinking, like the lights on a clock after the power's cut back on. His brows twisted,and squirmed ,like two fuzzy caterpillars over hot charcoal, as he tried to process what he'd just been told.

"Sherlock's...alive...And the git didn't even TRY to contact me?"

"Well, he was dead..."

"But he?"

Mycroft was on his knees ,not because he fell there begging (Iceman beg?don't be absurd!) but because John's fist had put him there. Then he hit him again, bringing him to his feet .

"The first one's for you,the second one's for Sherlock. I may not get away with hitting him when I see him, but you're close enough kin to do for a while."

John picked up his gun, intending to use it for another purpose this time. He was quickly packing an overnight bag, with all these military gadgets flying out of corners that Mycroft didn't even know existed on Baker Street. For good measure, John popped the skull up off her spot, and there was a secret stache of nicotine patches under it.

"He might want these." John muttered, eyeing Mycroft's confused expression. Then he smiled, "If this isn't a dream...And he really is alive?" his eyes grew very bright with something like hope. "And if it is a dream, I'll kill myself in the morning."

Mycroft puffed, and felt of his chin. He was pretty sure John had knocked the tooth he'd had the root canal in loose.


	2. Chapter 2 Homecoming is For Heroes

**Chapter 2:Homecoming is For Heroes~**

_"Of course ,I should have calculated this, I mean ,logically, it makes perfect sense. Homecoming is for heroes, that certainly isn't me, after all I've done, after what I have become. There is only one end for this.I ought to have known I'm supposed to be a genius! Pssh..."_

Sherlock's thoughts echo like machine gun bullets off the four walls of his mind, as he picks up speed, rolling down the staircase of the _Vienna's _ballroom. The pirates have guests, about 30 Russian ballerinas, who giggle behind white gloved hands. At him, falling. But of course, he does alot of that. Clumsy, worthless. Failure. Here he was supposed to bring down the _entire _network. He had managed them all, except for this small crew of turn-coat British naval officers,that had pulled off a few covert assasinations on competing drug bosses on the water, courtesy of Jim Moriarty's arrangement.

"_Want everything to be clever, of course. So you find yourself trusting, because it makes no sense for your own people to turn on you, it's too cliche, it's too expected to be expected!You've probably jeaporadized national security! Oh, stupid! By the way, are those your ribs breaking?Yeah, and you have to crawl up these stairs again. ...And again, and as many times as he knocks you down, until he lets you crawl off to your little hole..."_

It's not his ribs that break, but a thousand wine glasses, as he collides with a cart at the bottom of the stairs. Glass falls on him like captive shards rain. His soul screams; he finds he has one. Can't the nightmare of his long time penance be over? He bleeds from a thousand tiny little cuts, he pants, his eyes pop wide open,and he sees the chandelier on the roof, and a gathering of masked faces, that applaud his landing.

_Homecoming is for heroes,Sherlock. That certainly isn't you..._

"Get up!" the Captain shouts. "Come on ,is that the best you can do? You were supposed to be better than all the rest of us, remember?"

Sherlock sits up, and glass rolls off of him, like beads of frozen dew. The world around him looks made of plastic, and his insides scream at him to set it all on fire,and watch them all melt, and leave him alone in the darkness.

_Think,stupid!_

_Climb the stairs..._

_There has to be a way._

_There isn't ,you know how this ends..._

Sherlock gets up. Well , he's half bowed over, but the effort counts, right? He makes the top of the stairs, cuts the Captain a defiant look. And then he's spinning ,spinning on his way down the steps again.

Always falling...


	3. Chapter 3 One More Miracle,Again

**Chapter 3: One More Miracle,Again~**

John is wide awake ,in the back of Mycroft's long black car, seated beside Mycroft himself,and on his other side sits, Anthea.

"So, then, this is real?"

"I'm not pinching you to see so, don't even ask." she huffs.

"I wasn't?"

"What's _Vienna_'s position, Anthea?" Mycroft interrupts, in an unamused tone.

She swallows, looking at the GPS system on her phone.

"Their heading towards Canada, to the sight where _Titanic_ went down."

John feels his brows go up. "They're trying to sink their own ship?"

"No, their trying to sail it where it would be next to impossible for back up ships to come and do battle with that means, this is gonna be a stealth mission." Mycroft answered, uninterested.

"So...what are we doing?"

Mycroft is unzipping his coat. "What?"Anthea and John ask at the same time.

"I ,admittedly, hate field work." he says, as they observe ,there is black suit under his clothes, like that assasins wear. "And normally I'd send my finest in,but..well..while I am not given to spurts of familial sentiment, this _is _my little brother we're discussing here, and I am somewhat to blame for his being involved in this situation, so I feel morally obligated to be a part of the team that goes in to get him."

"And, you...you have some experience with this sort of thing, yeah?" John asks, uncertain.

"No, doctor, that's where you come in."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, you're my body guard. You're gonna walk me through my first experience with this sort of pressure."

"None...none at all."John laughs and shakes his head. This was shaping up to be a very strange dream.

"We'll take a helicopter to their location, be lowered into an inflatable raft that we drop down beneath us,and sneak on board."

"Just the ...the two of us?

"Anthea and the pilot will be watching from the sky? And it won't be just the _two_ of us, silly! When Sherlock is accounted for,it will be the _three_ of us. Anybody can say what they want to about Sherlock Holmes, and yet look how many times he's cheated death?He's certainly capable of escaping a glorified cruise ship."

John looked at the car's rooftop, heart pounding in his throat. He'd gotten the miracle he prayed for. And now...

"Whew,Lord...And I'm gonna need ANOTHER miracle now that he is, so they say, alive, just to KEEP him that way. Maybe I can afford, just one more yet..."

His fingers crossed,and he closed his eyes, feeling the car moving them towards wherever they were going, he wasn't keeping up with it anymore.

The only thing in the world that mattered now, was that Sherlock was alive.

Or so he hoped.


	4. Chapter 4 When a Good Man Has Enough

**Chapter 4: When a Good Man Has Enough~**

"That was quite a show,Master Holmes! Yes, SPECTACULAR! But I believe now, you have to make a speech. A farewell speech,as I fear, you won't live much longer in my presence. So ,take the stand,and tell us: did you really think you could outwit the one and only James Moriarty?Did you really think if you won this war, that England would welcome you back,with open arms, like some glorified prodigal son?"

There was applause in the dining hall. Sherlock had been allowed to go to the latrine, wash his blood off,and change, into a tuxedo they had furnished him with, for his upcoming exectution.

"Thoughtful." he had commented aloud, to the emptiness that was this"plastic" ship. "And look,they've even pinned a rose to the front pocket,and diamond cuff links, am I supposed to be flattered?"

A smile had flitted across his lips, like a bird through twilit branches.

_You're going to die. You knew you weren't getting out of this alive. So, do you want to go out in a "blaze of glory" as they say?Or will you die like a dog? You wanted a clever ending, and you knew it would come sooner than later...You always knew that. Now it comes time for the curtains, and congratulations, you are the master of ceremonies tonight. You'll need a show-stopper..._

Then he remembers it, the gun he had stolen, had hidden for his attempt at escape. There was not going to be an escape. He knew that from the outset ,but, like all cowards do( and he truly believed himself to be a coward now) he had dared to hope. But now, he would cast off all hope. Anchors away. He smiled.

It was time to bid the _Vienna _ a good night.

He reached up, still in the clothes that he'd been repeatedly kicked down the stairs in, and opened the air condtioning vent in the roof.A quick(and very painful) crawl,and he'd be back in the janitor's closet that they had converted to a room of sorts for him.

There was the pistol, hidden under a mop's head. He tucked it in his blazer, but put the bullet between his he'd calculated right, he'd only need the one.

And so a few moments later ,he came to be standing here on this stage, about to make his final speech. Dressed in the ridiculous tuxedo they had chosen for his burial shroud. Fancied himself "casket sharp" and smiled ,bitterly.

" Ladies and gentleman.." he said, as the crowd applauded,and fell silent.

"James,..."Jim" as I called him, and I, we had a sort of game going on. Two of a kind we were. And it was only that ,really, fun and games, types and shadows, of two minds winding down to madness, like falling stars on their way to hell. It couldn't have gone on forever, and we both knew that. Ah, but were oh-so bored. He in his sins, and I in the pursuit of righteousness...We were tired of all the ordinary people. People ... Funny, stupid little creatures. Made of plastic. Along with the whole world. Nothing of value, nothing of purpose in it, anymore. Just people getting what they want,because they want caring how much it costs good men to get it for them. Allowing the bad ones to spend it up, spilling blood like gasoline, on their madman fires.

Well, I am not a good man, nor will I be remembered as a great one. I am only a man that did what he knew to be right. And now that my task is done, and the sun of my great game and"glory" has gone down..."

He smiled wistfully, " Now it's time for me to sleep."

Slowly he pulled out the silver pistol.A few people stood slowly up.A ballerina let out a little chirp, wondering who would be at the receiving end of that bullet, or if the coward would turn it on himself.

"I thank you all for your has been no pleasant cruise, nor has it been a homecoming ,and I didn't deserve one, so thank you for not wasting favors on me. Now has come the time when I would like to burn these hallways, stairways,and little antechambers all the way back to hell, where they belong."

Sherlock aimed the single bullet, for the malfunctioning part of the electrical system in the chandelier,that he had observed when he was laying under the wine glass cart.

It was right at that moment that Mycroft and John entered the room.

John stopped dead in his tracks,at the sight of Sherlock. Like catching a glimpse of a specter, right before he disappears.

"Goodnight, _Vienna_." muttered said specter, with a sickened smile,and pulled the trigger.

The chandelier came crashing down on him,and fire and darkness rolled over the heart of the ship.


	5. Chapter 5 Saving the Saints

**Chapter 5: Saving the Saints~**

John holds his breath. This is undoubtedly real. He knows it now for certain.

Because he just isn't cruel enough to end his dreams this way.

Just 20 minutes ago, time stopped,as Mycroft woke him up from where he had fallen asleep in the private helicopter. It was twilight of the day that they had taken flight ,to rescue Sherlock from his sailing damnation.

Anthea had a headset on,and was holding some device that was flashing all these green lights.

And then John was standing in the open door of the helicopter, the cold wind blasting like the checks and balances of reality's unspoken government(hardly democracy) in his face.

"Here's the raft, Doctor."

"You haven't even put the air in it."John grunted.

"I .."

"You don't know how."

Mycroft shrugged.

John showed him, and then waited, impatiently, the reality check, becoming only a dull irritance,as the howl of artic wind grew to be the aggravating wail of winter's child, bereft of the toys of spring.

"Ok,"Mycroft tossed the raft off into the open air. Downward it floated,and landed at such an angle as there was no way they could leap into it,not even from the very bottom of the rope ladder.

"Ah,well atleast these suits are water tight."John muttered.

"Well..."

"Well,what?"

"Aren't you going to jump?"

"I believe it's lady's first ,Mycroft."

"We haven't time for this..."

20 minutes,that felt like and eternity,as they had boarded the inflatable raft,and set sail for the _Vienna,_ sneaking aboard with the creeping feeling that the night was coming, when none can work.

And now this.

The chandeleir's shattering was followed by the harmonized screams of the ballerinas. And then Sherlock slowly stood. Or rather his shadow did, a shape against the glare of sudden waves of flames, which parted for him like the Red Sea did for Moshe, at the word of God.

John held his breath,as officers stumbled over each other in the dark.

"We were gonna wait till the morning, Holmes. To give you a night to make your peace."

"Very gracious, but I have made my peace.I did what I did to save the the saints. And not the Saints of Sistine chapels, but the everyday saints of London streets. One in particular.I'm not sorry to die tonight. Shall we get on with it then?"

His shadow, for that's all that stood, out bold against the blood -tinged flames, held up his wrists,and allowed himself to be cuffed.

The captain pointed a white gloved hand, "Officers, topside, if you please sirs. Ladies, below decks. See if you can find something to kill the flame."

And with that John watched, in horror, as Sherlock was lead to the deck,to be extinguished like all the flames about them.

"Not this time..."John hissed.

"What?"

"They've decided it's time to kill! Topside, move!"

"Oh, yes, of course!"


	6. Chapter 6 End of Goodbye

**Chapter 6: End of Goodbye~**

The sun was setting in its fire, like it's veins were letting go .As if the sun was born to die, the twilight splattered it's blood all over the horizon,and flashed it's glory ,for eternity to witness, the dieing of the light.

Drummers began to beat their song, the slaying song the ages have recited over and over,as the day, or rather the night, came for millions more before him.

Sherlock smiled. He was going to die.

Like a final goodbye, the officers tore the roses off their suits,and cast the petals at his feet. They stood like guests at a wedding, save instead of jeweled parasols, they had long black rifles in their white gloved hands. A few splashed wine at his feet,and stung his barefoot wounds. Shoes had not been something they'd afforded him,for a long time.

The drums rolled,fast as the heart beat of he who soon dies. Save that Sherlock was perfectly calm. This day had come for him before, and these feelings were memory,and though it hadn't been the actual end, it may has well have been. For all that he knew died in him that day, and now he was someone else, the shell that he had left behind, the alabaster box void of its oil, the candle without its flame.

No fear ,nor pain, nor even remorse. He smiled as he approached the prow of the ship. He laughed as he realized how they planned to make his end.

"Novel." he chuckled, and the captain turned.

"I'm glad you're amused. But you're going to die, and doesn't that bother you?"

"Nope."

"You are a psychopath."

John was running in the dark, up the self-same stairs Sherlock had fallen down, half a hundred times today. Saw the steps were splattered with blood, and tried not to think about who's. Right now there was a tiny flame burning in his mind, like hope, if hope existed. Hope that maybe a miracle was in his wake, that just maybe some wind of change could spark it into a life he long ago lost.

Mycroft panted to keep up. The soldier was in his element, the government official was out of his league. Save that he had a purpose. This was the only thing that kept his legs moving, though they long ago turned to lead beneath him. For just a moment, a fraction of a fraction of a second, the wispy cotton thread of fate was in his hand, and the Mistresses thereof just might let him twine it with another. He'd best find its place soon, he could hear the shears sharpening.

They came topside ,just as the drums were silent.

"This is the end. All dogs die, and so do you, Holmes, no matter how many times you've slipped the noose. Today is the day, there is no where else to hide. You must face the sea, and she won't be so kind."

Sherlock smiled,and slipped out of his cuffs, showing he was going willing. He spread his arms, "Yes, it's true ,every dog must have his day. But I am greatly encouraged, thanks to you."

"Oh?" The captain didn't have a comeback for that.

Sherlock winked. "You know what they say. 'Only the good die young'."

"YOU ARE NOT GOOD, AND YOU WILL NOT DIE TODAY, OR TOMMOROW, OR EVEN THE NEXT DAY!" John shouted, coming on deck.

"What are you?!" Mycroft gasped, from where he crouched at the top of the stairs."Idiot..." he hissed, trying to calculate when he should call his people in.

Sherlock snapped to attention ,as if he had been struck by seven fingers of lightning.

"John?!"

"Oh ,is this the saint you swore to die for?" the captain laughed. "Hello, John. You're just in time to say your goodbyes.I won't kill you, 'cause I'd rather hurt you . And this will HURT you, won't it?"

John spun violently to facing Sherlock. "Not today... LISTEN UP!" he was puffing out of breath. "BECAUSE I WON'T SAY IT AGAIN! EVER AGAIN! IF TODAY'S THE DAY, AND YOU FALL, SHERLOCK, THEN BY GOD, I'M GOING OVER TOO!"

He unzipped the diving suit he had on over his clothes, and stepped out of it.

"John, don't be absurd..."Sherlock gasped, suddenly afraid, but not for himself.

"Shhh!" John cried, tired of being angry, so tired. Took two steps forward, fists clenched like he wanted to take a swipe at Sherlock ,but decided against it.

"No. Do you hear me? Never again. This is the end of goodbyes. If you jump...so will I."

The captain applauded. "Wonderful! How about Sherlock go first?"

Sherlock was shaking his head, tears beginning to threaten. Angry at the surge of his emotion, he gasped,

"HOW IN THE NAME OF DEVILS DID YOU EVEN GET HERE?!"


	7. Chapter 7 Anthea's Day

**Chapter 7: Anthea's Day~**

She heard "every dog had their day"and something in her heart brightened.

Anthea had always felt like a bit of an underdog. Like she wasn't of much use to her genius boss, with the equally (she secretly thought probably MORE)genius little brother. And she had always hoped that somehow, maybe someday ,it would come time for her to rise up,and save these two, who in her mind were like guardians of the earth, always saving the world in silence. Maybe she'd had a hand in that, she didn't know for certain.

Today she would know for certain. Today was her day.

"Anthea, I need you to..."

"Don't worry ,sir, I've already made the call. Now to come up with a distraction."

"That's my girl." Mycroft beamed.

The pilot hovered very high in the air, and a few miles off, so the sound of his choppers wouldn't be heard on the deck. Anthea knew what she was going to have to do,and the thought was a little intimidating.

"Excuse me," she said, skooting over and nudging the pilot out of his unsuspecting seat ,with a very hard bump of her hip.

"But I actually went to flight school, and I would like a turn."

~ Sherlock shook his head. It was no use. How was he going to save John?He couldn't even save himself.

"You can't...just throw your life away, like this..." he stammered.

"What makes it ok for you to do it?!" John cried, voice too hoarse for it to reach a shout anymore.

"Because I've been trying to save you!"Sherlock hissed.

Hearing it from Mycroft was one thing. Hearing it from Sherlock ,who was supposedly dead, and now would be, was completely something else.

" Ehem!, You boys really don't have any choice now." the captain said, "You see, using your infamous logic, if I may be so bold, Sherlock, -John might be able to be rescued by whoever brought him here-assuming hopefully somebody else ,who's going to die when I find them, unless they all get very lucky, which if they do, John will live, and your life won't be totally wasted, Sherlock..." his voice took on a sadistic giddiness. "But...here's the kicker! If you don't jump,right now!-"

Every gun was suddenly trained to aiming straight for John's heart. His eyes flashed in momentary confusion,and then his teeth clenched, realizing what sort of poetic point they were trying to make.

"Then he will die for absolutely certain. So really, if I were you, and I were the rational, calculating pyschopath that you are...I would see that,clearly, John's better chances at survival are your jumping."

Sherlock was panting very hard, almost hyperventilating, the sight of all those guns trained suddenly on John ,more unsettling that he ever dreamed it would be. The thought was worse than dieing. Actually, this made dieing look good. He held up his hands, and nodded in agreement.

"Sherlock..."John croaked.

Because this time he knew the reason...

"Is alright..."Sherlock croaked,in reply. "I knew I always knew...it would end...like this. And it's ok. I want this...Maybe you can live?.."

"Don't."

"Let me have my last wish." Sherlock sighed, and closed his eyes. Let one last hard breath, steadying himself. His eyes popped open in determination.

He slowly turned,and put his hands out ,as if balancing on a see saw.

Slowly he rose up to the prow.

None of John's nightmares were dark enough to prepare him for actually re-living this. His heart may have exploded.

Had not Anthea flown the chopper dangerously close to the deck,causing the burning hull to tip on it's side under the force of air,and displaced water, and all the kings men to roll off into the sea.

John watched Sherlock stumble and fall for the second time. Before he even knew what was happening, he was taking off after him,full blown run,and did a swan dive into the icey Atlantic.

"Well done, Anthea." Mycroft praised,and pulled out the gun he'd the foresight to bring with him.

The captain alone had managed to stay topside.

"Whewhooo...so you are a terrorist, I presume? Go ahead, I'd looooove for you to threaten me," Mycroft cried ,coldly,as was the way of the Iceman, and revealed himself on the topsy turvy deck.

The captain pulled his own pistol out. "So, _you're _the other Holmes. Nice to meet you."

Mycroft smirked, laughing darkly, "The pleasure is mine, Captain Braun."


	8. Chapter 8 Mycroft's Hour

**Chapter 8: Mycroft's Hour~**

He had been trained, and tried ,and tested for this day. This wasn't the first time he had been threatened ,he reminded himself. He was ready for Captain Braun...

But he wasn't sure he was ready for he stage on which this was to be done. The burning ship on which he stood, sliding into the sea.

But then he saw his baby brother hit the ship's rail, saw his blood stream down the side, saw John dive over.

And he knew come hell or high water(or probably both) he could do this.

Captain Braun was the only one left. Sebastian Moran having been taken out last week...

"Today is not my day!" the captain cried ,sounding paniced.

Mycroft laughed,"No, it is your night."

~~John thought he felt his blood freezing inside him,and hoped the pressure of this might propel them to the surface. His arms wrapped around Sherlock in the life-preserving, longed for embrace. He was happy to find that he was barefoot, because his shoes wouldn't be weighing them down on the way back .He kicked his own off, feeling the icey water sink it's teeth into his feet.

His teeth were chattering even before they broke the water's skin,and then they shot out again, like a needle through the other side of the dark fabric. Sherlock hung limp, moaned, awake, though his blood was streaming down his face.

"Hey, it's ok .We're getting out of here."

His eyes skimmed the sea for where they tied the raft. He hoped maybe it was still intact after Anthea's amazing stunt.

Then he saw framed in golden light... Mycroft, like the angel of death. Just in the moment,when he fired the killing shot.

Captain Braun fell backwards ,like the doom of a star, into the sea.

And Mycroft sent the call out, that the last of the Enemy had been eliminated.

John gaped. And Sherlock gasped, "Over...it's...over...?"

"Yeah...Yeah I think, your brother just finished it..."

"Good of him..."

"And it may be over for us too,if we don't get out of this water soon."

That's when John spotted the raft. It was still inflated, but it was far away,and floating off.

"I just might reach it, but I'm gonna need you to work with me..."

"Give me...to the sea..."

"What?NO!Shut up,and use your legs!"


	9. Chapter 9 Study in Phoenix

**Chapter 9: Study in Phoenix~**

Sherlock tried, valiantly, but it was becoming very obvious he was slipping away.

"John, I can't...stay awake...A bit not good...may want to leave me...here..."

"Shut up!Not gonna happen."

"You can't imagine the kind of demons I carry with me!Don't save me, I don't deserve it!"Sherlock cried,and it sounded like a bullet to John's heart.

"Nobody deserves salvation,Sherlock!"John hissed into his ear, feeling his blood slide down his cheek,and onto his own face.

"Nobody deserves it...But I don't care...I want to help you...I will save you ,even if I don't make it out of here!Now shut up, and help me!"

"Why?"

"Because I love you, for God's sake! And I don't care how many demons you've picked up along the way. I will give them more hell than they ever DREAMED of,if they ever even think about you again. Now try to swim..."

"That thing's...too far away..."

John gasped..."You know...you're right. But the boat's not!And it's on fire, which will keep us warm, for a while."

John swam for their lives, to a ship that was sinking. He laughed at his foolish hope. He thought of _Vienna _as a Phoenix, dieing to live.

He rolled Sherlock up onto the burning side of the ship. He was blinking,passing out from blood loss,and cold.

John ran a hand over his hair,trying to get a better look at wound. This...the sight of him ...like this...again. John felt the urge to vomit,or curl up inside himself,and pretend this is just a dream.

Just yesterday...he was going to kill himself because he couldn't take the pain of these memories anymore. And now he was actively reliving them.

But like the Phoenix, they two would rise from their ashes, everytime.

So when he broke,he broke into a smile.

"Hey...this wound is actually not as bad as it would seem. It just happened to bleed alot."

Sherlock smiled faintly,more ghost than man now.

"This ship is sinking..."he gasped,and convulsed.

John looked up at the sky. "Yeah...I know..."

"That raft is out there still...You could go...you could save yourself..."

"I will NOT leave you."

"But I wronged you...I didn't even try to...contact you..."

John laughed.

"There's such a thing as forgiveness..."

Mycroft came over the rise then."Yes, about that. I am afraid I will need to beg and borrow from you, one more time...John..."


	10. Chapter 10 The Day That Sherlock Died

**Chapter 10 : The Day That Sherlock Died**

"You just ended the War,Mycroft. That redeems you in my book, just a little bit."reassured John.

Sherlock chuckled,and started coughing up swallowed blood.

"Looks like he's choking on himself,doctor."Mycroft said, eyeing Sherlock with the closest thing to empathy the Holmes boys would ever come to.

John looked around. "Find something that we can use as a bandage."

"Like what?"

"Well, it needs to be would help if it were dry,but that might not be an option."

Mycroft nodded,and then pealed out of his diving suit. Underneath it he was still wearing the assassin's suit. He peeled out of,and held up his coat sleeve to John.

"Got a knife,John?"

John felt in his pockets,,"Oh bugger me..." he muttered.

"I do."Sherlock croaked.

Without having to ask,John reached inside his coat.

"Ow."

"Failed to mention it was a kitchen knife with a wooden sheath,that must have fallen off, I can feel it poking me."

"Yeah, it got me too."

"I'm sorry ,John."

"It's ok."

"I'm not sorry about the knife, that wasn't really my fault."

John looks steadily at Sherlock, knowing what he wants to talk about.

"Why couldn't you have just told me you were alive?! Sherlock...I tried to kill myself last night..."

Sherlock's soul turned to ashes within him, visibly indicated by the sudden grey tint of his skin. "You...tried to ...what?"His brows furrowed in disbelief.

"Don't worry, he's not hurt at all.I intercepted it long before he'd made any gestures of performing the deed. Caught him cleaning his gun."Mycroft smirked ,like he'd won some game they'd all been playing. What that was ,John wasn't sure.

"Just...why didn't you...tell me...the truth?"

Sherlock's eyes fluttered..."You..."he surrendered to the blackness inside him.

"He took that harder than I'd ever imagined. Hypocrite ."Mycroft stated ,dryly.

John looked up at Mycroft."He'll be ok. If we can get off this bloody tub before she sinks..."

"Oh, my people are on that, right now. We could just as easy fly out of here, if Anthea would bring her self reminds me, I was just about to call her down from the heights."

John looked up,when he heard the pilot's screams. Anthea was doing figure 8 spins in the air.

"Mind bringing it down here?"

"Oh,sorry, right away ,sir."

"Right, thank you."Mycroft smiled,and nodded,as if she could see him.

Then he turned to John. "Just...whatever you have felt, whatever you are thinking, have no doubts. You may have been ready to kill yourself from the pain of what was done, but the day my brother took a leap of faith off the top of St. Bart's, was the day he died, if not in his body, than for certain in his soul. It was like watching somebody snuff a cigarette. He'll never forgive himself for what he did to you. And guilt is most likely the reason you are looking for,that he could not bring himself to speak to you again, until today."

John looked at the unconcious man in question.

"Said he had demons...What did he mean?"

Mycroft swallowed,and closed his eyes,"One expects demons in hell, don't they?And hell is where he's been for the last 2 years...But that's a story I'd rather tell in safety ,over tea, than on this burning butter dish ,sinking into the sea."

Anthea lowered the ladder then.


	11. Chapter 11 Study in Acceptance

**Chapter 11: Study in Acceptance~**

Sherlock woke up, in a captain- sized cabin. Stirred, confused to find clean linens under his fingertips. Large ,white, clean bed. Better than any hospital bed, by far. There is great healing in one night's restful sleep.

He flinched, eyes still bleary from exhaustion. There was someone else in the room. Someone dangerous. Someone that knew of half a hundred diffrent ways to hurt him. To _really _hurt him,not just rough him up a bit.

Which ,he supposed, maybe he deserved whatever this man had come to do to him.

Then ,with another flinch, he heard his name. Said with endearment. He may _know_ how,but he never would.

It was John.

Sherlock blinked and his vision cleared. John had just come back from the ship's head. The doctor come to check on his favorite(most challenging) patient.

"Hey!" John laughed, released from sorrow and anger in the same instant that Sherlock woke up; it was beyond euphoric to find him alive and on the mend.

He took two strides to him,and sat on the end of his bed. Leaned over him,and laid a hand on his throat, taking his pulse. Sherlock closed his eyes tight.

"Go ahead."

"Come again?"

"I know you want to beat the wind of devils from me. I really don't blame you."

Sherlock was suprised when John's arms silently encompassed him. " No. At first, yes, but not now. Mycroft...told me everything..."

Sherlock's eyes opened, and were filled with pain. He smiled,almot sickly. "Well, then you have more reasons to look down on me now, than ever you did. Knowing all those people I took out. And all that torture they..If I wasn't human before, I have certainly been dehumanized to a new level now..."

John smiled. "Oh, I've eaten those words a thousand times since..." he closed his eyes,and swallowed. " You are very human...The most human of humans that I have ever known...The best too,and I never told you. Sent you off with that...I'm sorry..."

Sherlock was confused, brows twisted. "No, no this isn't the way it works. You're supposed to be angry with me, to spit in my face, and kick the wind out of me, and send me away to never speak again. You are supposed to hate me,so that you will never be endangered by me again?"

John laughed bitterly. "You really DON'T get it, do you?" Sherlock blinked, puzzled.

"It makes the most sense,John, after what I did to you."

"What you did FOR me. And no, no that's..."John drew a hand through his hair, looking for words..."That doesn't make sense, when the person you're reffering too is your friend..."

"I don't have friends..."

"You didn't before. You do now, if only just the one, yeah?" he felt like he could cry, and why he wasn't really sure. "But I wasn't angry at you for what you supposedly did. That hurt me more than you will ever know, and you don't need to know, lest it hurt you in turn. And I will have to ask you to please, please NEVER actually do that to me. I know the only part of yourself you've ever actually valued is your brain...but there's really a lot more. There's a life,worth too much for you to take it. There's a heart...That actually can break, and probably has so deep that you don't even know it anymore. What really set me off, was never your being "you". Let me say this once, and let it be the last time. Annoying geek that you are-clueless- to -sentiment dolt that you are-ex-MI6 agent barbarically tortured human wreck that you are-you are also my friend, closer to a brother but that's not even close enough, and I love you just as you are. Got it?"

Sherlock blinked..."Just the way...?"

"Just the way you bloody well are!"John beat his palms into Sherlock's chest,and that's the closest to a beating he'd come." I was never angry about you being you. I was angry that you never would include me,even when you were in the most trouble. That ,even now, it seems you just don't trust me. Don't know how. If you feel like you deserve to pay some sort of penance, let me tell you how it's done, Sherlock. Do NOT shut me out. Just don't."

"I'm supposed to keep you safe. Didn't you say friends protect people?"

"Yes, but not from _themselves,_you idiot!"John gasped, exasperated. Sherlock grinned, impishly, which set them both to laughing.

"You're right, I don't get it."

"You try."

"Yeah..."

"Well?"

"Hmm?"

"Say something."

Sherlock blinked. "You...you tried to ...kill yourself...for real."

John bowed his head. Sherlock lifted it by the chin, made him look at him. His eyes were blazing, far too hot with whatever went on in his amazing mind, blazing with thoughts to evaporate the tears he maybe wanted. His brows were a ghost of twisted,as if his head indeed was on fire, and hurt unfathomably. He swallowed.

"I think by now ,especially if Mycroft described the torture parts, you know which of our lives I value more..."

John did cry then, and Sherlock smiled, saying that it was alright ,without words."If you expect me not to take my own life, well then you'd best take better care of yours. Can do that,... for me?"

"Oh God, yes!"

They shook hands on it, and then Sherlock let John cry, on his chest, for what seemed like a long time.


	12. Chapter 12 Not Only the Heroes Go Home

**Chapter 12: Not Only Heroes Go Home~**

Sherlock concluded that he must've nodded off, when his first conscious observation was of John's thumb tracing his face.

"Oi, when you finally DO sleep, you are next to impossible to wake up again!" he heard him say at last,and his eyes opened.

He drew a deep breath. As the last 2 years ,plus today's conversation, flashed through his mind. It had been like lightning's landing, and John's tears were like rain, washing all the ashes of his soul away.

Now it was over. Finally over. And it would never be the same.

The look in John's eyes promised it would be better,actually.

"Oh?" he asked, and stretched. John moved back,was standing next to him now, and let him sit up. Had on a light jacket over his clothes. Handed Sherlock his long dark coat,and his scarf.

Sherlock stood up. Suprised to find that whenever they had moved him to this bed, they had put him in his own clothes again. Wondered vaguely what happened to the tuxedo, but then it would have to matter, so he let it slip like smoke from the chimney's lips, out of his mind. Took the coat,and scarf, and put them on with practiced swiftness. Let out a heavy breath, fingers fidgeting, still not feeling at home in his own clothes or skin, which is the way of the tormented. John's arms were folded,and he smiled graciously, taking the image in, over-joyed to see him.

"Shoes!" he muttered, and snapped his fingers. Then he turned to a small table in the cabin's corner,and produced a new pair of the same sort Sherlock used to wear, black leather with a bit of shine ,to almost make the beholder's eyes twinge in faint pain. Sherlock took them,and a pair of socks, gratefully.

"Shoes." he muttered, and smiled. "I uhm...don't remember the last time I actually had any."

John smiled."The past is the past, yeah?"

He stood, eagerly waiting for him to put them on. Then he motioned for him to stand up again,and hastily made his bed for him. Took him by the arms,beaming, almond dark eyes flashing with barely contained ecstasy.

"You don't want to miss this!"

"Miss...what?"

"Come on...See it for yourself."

He practically hauled Sherlock on deck, who stumbled like a foal behind him, despite the fact that he had been carried all over Poseidon's half acre for months now, and John was new to his sea legs.

"Look! Do you know where we are?"

"Obviously,on deck." said a voice they both knew, and loved despite themselves.

Mycroft was on the deck , leaning on his umbrella. He turned to Sherlock and John, smiling like it was Christmas. Or better ,Easter-the Day of the Lord's Resurrection-giving life to all those who have walked in the shadow of death-Sherlock definately being on that list, for far too long.

Sherlock stumbled forward,to the rail of this ship that Mycroft's people had provided. It was appropriately named the _Valkryie_, come to fetch a hero when his task was done. Because regardless of what he said, he was a only in the way that John (and Mycroft if he'd admit it) saw him. "Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder",so they say. And if their eyes could add beauty ,or worth, or ,by their tears, depth to the sea, then Sherlock was the equivalent of one of the Princes of the Heavens by now, heralded home on great silver waves. John felt like they were walking on the sky. This was better than a dream. Too good to be real. To real to be dismissed ,as the fevered fantasy of those who's hearts can never heal. So ,what was it then?

Sherlock leaned out over the sea, silver- green eyes burning like stars, in his sudden absolute astonishment. His jaw dropped,and John laughed and cried all at once to see that. Sherlock faintly shook his was happening, he could not doubt what his senses told him. He was very much awake,and still alive, the pain in old wounds made that certain. But...this was far beyond wildest dreams of Dreamers, to whose number he did not belong.

But then it hit him, like crashing head- on into the farthest of stars, that proves to be the one you wished on, if you believe in such things. He was not on the sea.

He was on the at the mouth, still far enough away that it may be a mirage. But...he could see the City,..his City from here...

John's warm hand ,in between his shoulders, brought him up out of his trance, just enough to form a few words.

"Are we really-?"

His mouth slowly came to a close,and John saw his brows twist, trying to hold in his tears. That was impossible of course, very real tears suddenly tinged the silver-green eyes with wine-stains. Drunken happiness... John laughed, shaking his head, in joyful disbelief.

"Welcome home."

Sherlock shook his head, "But...I don't..."

Mycroft, knowing what his little brother was about to say, came and laid his hand on his shoulder, on the opposite side that John's occupied.

"Not only the heroes go home, brother mine."

~The End


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